


Pharah's Duty

by x22



Series: Overwatch Chub Fiction [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Belly Kink, Chubby, Developing Friendships, Eating, Fluff, Gen, Stuffing, Weight Gain, slight weight gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-08-28 05:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/x22/pseuds/x22
Summary: At the newly reformed Overwatch's Watchpoint Gibraltar, draconic measures are being put into place to whip the operatives into shape. Pharah has the unenviable task of enforcing them on Mercy's behalf but the last couple of days the doctor has been strangely absent. Still, Brigitte is always there to support her... and nothing more, right...?





	1. Diligence

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Overwatchin' and Overeatin'](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/434997) by Overwatchin' and Overeatin'. 



Tongue sticking out in deep concentration, Brigitte Lindholm threaded a delicate niobium wire to repair the incredibly finicky and complicated circuitry of a disassembled hard light generator. It was the kind of delicate work she had little talent – and even less patience – for and it took a great deal of effort not to just throw up her hands. Give her a hammer over tweezers any day!

So focused was the engineer that she failed to notice the door to her improvised workshop open. " _Men va fan..._ " she muttered, annoyed that her soldering iron wasn't where she expected it to be.

Only when Brigitte abandoned the delicate operation to search for the missing tool did the visitor raise her voice: "Looking for something?"

"Uh? Oh sorry Fareeha, I didn't see you there," the Swede said sheepishly. Dressed in her usual tank top and baggy fatigues, Pharah was holding a plasboard crate in front of her. One could be forgiven for thinking it was full of vile garbage judging by her expression and how she carried it.

"Is something the matter?" Brigitte wondered. With a sweep of her beefy arm she cleared enough space on her desk for Pharah to put down her bothersome load.

The security officer complied with a sigh and sat down opposite Brigitte. She rubbed her temple wearily.

"What's in the box?" Brigitte inquired, stretching to try and peer over the top.

"More contraband." Pharah flopped backward in her seat. Staring at the ceiling, she elaborated on her predicament: "I haven't been able to get a hold of Dr. Ziegler the last two days, so I have no idea what to do with it."

In an effort to combat the expanding waistlines around the base, Mercy had instituted a crackdown to combat the smuggling of unhealthy treats. Honest and reliable, Pharah had been chosen as her enforcer, rooting out pernicious pastries and corrupting chocolates wherever they were hidden.

Eyeing the crate hungrily, Brigitte licked her lips: "Just leave it with me."

Fareeha sat back up and folded her powerful arms: "Didn't you say the incinerator is broken?"

"What are you talking abo-ohhh..." Surreptitiously trying to fish out a candy bar, Brigitte's blithe mien was suddenly struck with sudden realization. "Uhm, right... yeah... I did say that, huh."

Previously, when Pharah had suggested destroying the deliciously devious goods, Brigitte's conscience could not bear the thought. So she had told a little white lie...

"Either way, it's a shame to waste food!" the engineer admonished her companion before biting into a liberated chocolate bar. Pharah knew from experience that the Swede was sincere in this sentiment: Already the pinched chocolate had vanished and she was rummaging around for another treat. Even having known her for several weeks, Brigitte never ceased to surprise Fareeha with her incredible appetite.

Pharah knew she shouldn't let Brigitte get away with stealing confiscated goods like this, but couldn't bring herself to say anything. Saving her from a near-fatal encounter with Talon's Reaper, rebuilding her sundered Raptora suit afterwards; she owed the Swedish engineer a lot. On top of that, she just didn't want Brigitte to think ill of her...

Speaking of which: When a cookie pack was thrust into her face, Fareeha reluctantly accepted. She just couldn't say no to Brigitte's enthusiasm. "There you go! Much better than burning it all, yeah?"

Pharah nodded slowly and bit into a cookie. Just a couple surely couldn't hurt... It was a thought that was starting to feel quite familiar whenever she was around Brigitte. The jolly girl just had that effect on her. Thinking about it, she seemed to have that effect on a lot of people here at Gibraltar...

"This is way too much for anyone to eat, even _two_ people," Fareeha countered, gesturing towards the large crate with a half-eaten cookie. "And even if we could, remember there's a reason why Dr. Ziegler has me dealing with all this stuff. We don't want anyone else to end up like Miss Oxton."

The observation brought a distant look to Brigitte face as she stuffed it with meringue pie. She didn't seem particularly quick to agree with Fareeha's proclamation. Licking sweet crumbs off her fingers, she eventually stirred from her reverie.

"You don't have to worry about me," the Swede grinned and tugged at her top to show off how it read "I like exercise because I love eating". It had rolled up a little and obscured the text, bunched up over a conspicuous bulge that had not been there before she came to Gibraltar.

Fareeha cleared her throat, trying not to stare at her companion's stout midsection. "Of course, of course. I... uhm... I didn't mean it like _that_." To distract herself, she popped another cookie into her mouth. "Speaking of, I was thinking we might do some more physical exercise when we meet up in the training hall tomorrow? It feels like all we've been doing is testing out the new Raptora suit and... well... don't get me wrong, I think it's great!" Pharah made a wry face: "Maybe almost, I don't know... _too_ great? I don't even break a sweat using it!"

"Thanks, I'm still pretty proud of it," Brigitte grinned. Her grin quickly took on a sly cast: "Is it wrong for me to want to see such power and grace in motion?"

Eyes wide, Fareeha gobbled up the last cookie and stood up hurriedly. Awkwardly she tugged at her own shirt which also seemed to have slipped up a little, for some strange reason. She could feel heat rising in her cheeks.

"Ah, well I'd better try Dr. Ziegler again! Yes!" the security officer babbled and scrambled towards the crate of treats. "I suppose I'll have to let her handle this, as usual."

Brigitte hated seeing the delicious container go, but didn't say anything and instead contented herself to watching Fareeha leave.

 


	2. Temptation

With the computer pad propped up against her belly, Lena Oxton lay back in her bed and grinned over a plush double chin. On the other end of the video call, Emily failed to stop herself from laughing at the cheesy joke her girlfriend had just made.

"It sounds like you all have your hands full down there," Emily managed as she brought her chuckles under control.

"Pretty much. Cor, Halloween's right around the corner and I'd hoped we could do some... _trick or treating_ together." Tracer's tone did suggest innuendo, but Emily had a suspicion it was entirely unintentional. These days Lena just couldn't get enough treats. "But with everything going on I'll have to stay here."

"Surely they'll let me send you some candy for Halloween."

"I wouldn't count on it." Lena had to disappoint her girlfriend. "Not gonna lie: I _am_ getting a bit hacked off with Angela being so bloody strict."

Emily offered her poor, pudgy sweetheart a sympathetic look. She certainly did not relish seeing Lena deprived of ample nourishment.

"On the other hand... _om-nom_ ...she hasn't dragged me to any physicals in a while. In fact I don't think I've even seen her for, like, weeks." All of a sudden Tracer's mouth was full. "So I'm stuck with all these donuts." She waved a half-eaten pastry in front of the camera for emphasis – rather awkwardly what with all the boobs and chins and chunky arm crowding the field of vision.

Emily let out an adoring little chuckle.

"Wha'?" Stuffing the rest of the unused bribe into her mouth, Lena looked dumbfounded – oblivious to the icing she had somehow smeared on the tip of her nose.

"You've got a little something there..." Emily indicated mirthfully before she burst out laughing.

Quite cross-eyed, Lena was trying helplessly to reach the rogue icing with her tongue. Not even concentrating really, really hard got her any closer to success.

"Here, let me help you..." Emily said coyly once she had recovered. Leaning forward, she licked at the camera. Slowly, sensually. It stopped Tracer's attempt dead in its tracks. Colour rising in her cheeks, she froze with her eyes wide, mouth agape. Hand resting in the box of donuts next to her bed.

"N-no fair..." Lena muttered, voice tinged with lust. Her free hand played impatiently with the bulging flab of a lovehandle for want of a more pertinent place.

"Sorry darling. I promise to make it up to come Christmas."

In Lena's eyes, lust now mixed with another craving – a heady cocktail Emily had become increasingly familiar with. "Are you doing your dad's roast recipe?" she inquired, now giving her girlfriend her undivided attention.

Emily nodded slyly. "And if you're a good girl: my nana's trifle."

"Blimey..." Tracer moaned before stuffing a whole donut into her mouth to quell her longing. "I godda bri'g my stretch pants."

It was Emily's turn to turn red. Quite clearly she could imagine her girlfriend sprawled at the Christmas dinner table, her belly bulging over the edge while she herself brought out the turkey for yet another course.

While the redhead fantasized, the allure of the promised feast had started to dispel lust from Tracer's mind. Lazily, mechanically, she was stuffing donut after donut into her mouth to satisfy her inflamed appetite. Noticing her girlfriend's strange look, she assured her through a greasy mouthful: "Don't worry, I'm keeping trim until the holidays, luv."

Emily's confused face begged further explanation.

"Brigitte – you know, Torbjörn's kid – has been dragging me to the training hall a ton lately. I dunno what the deal is, but she's super-stoked to see me run." Lena munched lazily on a donut stub, striking a figure that couldn't be any less athletic if she tried. "She and Genji keep saying it's just 'light training' but I tell you, I'm _knackered_."

"Aww you poor dear," Emily half-smiled, tutting sympathetically. "Come to mummy and let her take proper care of you over the holidays. You can put your feet up and get some rest."

"You're the best, Em," Lena said fondly, doing her best to appear ragged and pitiable. "Lookin' forward to it!"

"Anything for my hero." Emily blew her a kiss before her eyes glanced down at the time: "Oh shoot, I have to go. Love you, darling! See you soon! Enjoy your donuts."

Unmoving, Lena returned the kiss languidly, inadvertently rolling her ample double chin in the process. "Aye, aye!" she complied, before punctuating the broadcast with a small belch.

 

Plascrate of confiscated goods in hand, Pharah could just barely make out the sound of voices from Tracer's room as she went past. It made her think of how out of shape the ex-pilot was, courtesy of her bad eating habits. Thus reminded of the importance of her mission, the security officer hastened her stride.

Her eagerness to be rid of her burden bolstered by the bloated Brit, Pharah soon found herself in front of Dr. Ziegler's office. She nudged the call button on the door. Like the last couple of times, she got no reply. After waiting patiently she pushed it again on impulse, then two more times.

Silently chiding herself for the immature display, the security officer sighed and gave up. Then, just as she turned to leave, the comm crackled to life.

"Zzz... hmm? What's... who's there?"

Before Fareeha could reply to the doctor's incoherent question, the door slid open. Keen to get this over with, she stepped inside without a second thought.

"Mmmh... _was ist los_...?" Mercy muttered so sleepily it seemed she had opened the door only by accident.

"Dr. Ziegler, I just wanted to ask you what I should–" Fareeha peered into the barely lit room. Her eyes adjusting to the dark, she cut herself off with a gasp.

 


	3. Decadence

Mercy groaned mightily as she began to stir. Her voice was weak and groggy once she managed to speak: "Ouf... what happened..."

Standing in the entrance to the dimly lit office, Pharah could not even begin to answer the doctor's question. It was not for lack of evidence: The scene before her left little doubt as to what had transpired.

The blonde lay sprawled on a couch usually reserved for patients, immensely and impossibly bloated. Her thick legs hung limply on either side of the couch, pushed aside to make room for a massively engorged belly. It rose like a pale, packed planetoid to eclipse everything else in Fareeha's eyes. Mercy was wearing a stretchy black top, but it had long since given up covering the vast orb. It now settled for hugging a hefty bosom that draped heavily over the horizon of taut, bare skin.

Angela was vaguely aware of the security officer's presence, but her overriding concern was how ridiculously full she felt. She closed her eyes and tried to make sense of it all. Her swollen gut loomed even larger in her mind's eye, seemingly impossibly vast and poised to explode. She knew she had been eating a bit, but she felt as if she had gorged non-stop for days on end.

The innumerable empty wrappers, cups and boxes strewn around the swollen doctor suggested the feasting had been going on for quite a bit longer. Reluctantly, Mercy acknowledged memories of herself eating confiscated treats at her desk. Eating in the lab. Eating in bed. And yet... _this_... Mercy dared to peek out from closed eyes. Her belly ballooned like an overripe fruit to fill her vision with taut flesh. Too bloated to believe; too full to comprehend.

Glancing to the side, feeling too stuffed to even move her head, Angela spotted a likely clue. On the low table next to her a whiskey bottle lay empty among the discarded pudding cups and stacks of ice cream sticks. Taken from McCree and Tracer respectively, bottles of booze and cans of beer lay among the rest of the consumed contraband. Idly ingested at first, Angela's alcohol consumption had obviously escalated – at least enough to help explain why everything was a bit hazy. And how she had managed to gorge herself into this state.

Unwelcome snippets flashed in Angela's mind. Nursing a bottle of bourbon and moaning into her glass about how impossible her job was. Fareeha with another load of contraband. Telling the security officer to bring more. Flopping back onto the coach, beer in one hand and extra large bag of nacho chips in the other. The evidence was starting to build a narrative leading towards the bountiful blonde lying here, stuffed out of her wits.

Staring at the end result of that process, Fareeha could scarcely believe what she saw before her. Ever since coming to Gibraltar, the security officer had looked up to Angela as a much-needed commanding and professional presence at the unruly base. Certainly, she had noticed the guardian angel's eating habits and chunky physique, but had made excuses she did not make for the other Overwatch operatives.

Well, _most_ of the other operatives... Pharah's mind flashed back to Brigitte's workshop. It reminded her how she had not consigned the contraband to the rubbish chute earlier. Just like all the previous times she had instead left the matter for Dr. Ziegler to deal with. Standing here now, she was hard pressed to deny _how_ she had dealt with it: The good doctor must have eaten all those crateloads of confiscated treats. Every crumb crammed into that overfilled gut until it was taut like a drum.

Even as these thoughts rushed haphazardly in her mind, Pharah found herself stepping forward with the most recent haul. Years of service had ingrained in her an obedience that made her loath to criticize a superior. Rather than confront this dissonance, she brought the crate over to Mercy, expecting to be handed a resolution: "More contraband, Dr. Ziegler," she said curtly. Candy wrappers crinkled and crisp bags rustled as she hoisted up the goods she carried.

" _Mein Gott!_ " Angela gasped, barely able to eye the impending treats around the great curve of her belly. Already stuffed to her limit and beyond, if she had as much as a single bite... she was convinced she would quite simply explode. And yet...

Mercy found herself licking her lips greedily as crate came closer, dangerously close to be within her reach. If the security officer left it next to her, she wasn't sure if she could resist. "J-just get rid of it!"

"How?" Fareeha was getting quite exasperated. "Every time I try to dispose of this stuff, Miss Lindholm tells me the incinerator is broken. And I can't leave it lying around for anyone to find, otherwise all your..." She winced as the contradiction between her thoughts and the reality before her returned to the fore. Angrily she stamped out the doubt in her mind, almost as if in righteous retribution for it daring to disturb her clarity of purpose. "...all your hard work would be for nothing!"

Finally losing her cool, Pharah slammed the crate onto the table sitting at Mercy's bulging side. The doctor swallowed heavily as marshmallow bags and bite-size dessert packets jumped, danced and shifted with the impact. Enormously bloated though she was, she could feel the cravings come over her. Part of her still falsely believed she could control them, but then...

"Please... no..." Angela begged as her eyes lit up: Uncovered by Pharah's outburst, a box of Lindt pralines emerged seductively from the landfill of treats. She tried to push away from the temptation, but found herself pinned down by her own excess. Too full to move; too glutted to escape its siren song.

_Just one..._ said an insidious voice in Angela's head and she felt her hand move as if on its own volition. Even this small shift was enough to cause the blonde's bursting belly to creak and groan ominously, throbbing in protest against the stress put on it.

Wincing at the discomfort, Mercy hesitated – much as she kept eyeing the tantalizing treat. Even "just one" would be too much. And even if it wasn't... An unbidden parade of flashbacks to an endless stream of idle gorging appeared in Angela's mind. Relentlessly stuffing her face simply because the delicious treats where _there_. No, there was no such thing as "just one".

Sweat pearled on Angela's brow, tongue playing greedily – nervously – over her lips. Her appetite was already overriding her warnings and was back to insisting that she would just have a small taste. Her overfilled gut ached and tensed, bracing for the inevitable.

 


	4. Judgement

Mercy stared at the box of chocolates sitting atop a small ocean of other treats. Oblivious to the bloated blonde's predicament and without further orders, Pharah looked ready abandon her responsibility and leave. As evidenced by the angel's gorged state, it would not be the first time she had left contraband at gluttony's mercy.

"These illicit goods would endanger the embargo," Pharah reminded the doctor. Crossing her arms, she distanced herself from the contentious crate. Mercy didn't have that luxury, pinned as she was by her stuffed gut.

Sensing that she was about to be left alone with the irresistible charms of Swiss pralines – and so much more – a desperate look flashed across Angela's face. Feeling her resistance crumble, she closed her eyes and squeaked: "Fine! The embargo's off!"

"What??" What had seemed like an eternity to the bloated doctor had been but a few awkward moments to Fareeha. For her, the sudden reversal came out of the blue.

Angela cleared her throat. With the unwitting bringer of her doom taken aback, she managed to reassert her calm, professional demeanour. More or less. "The holiday season is coming up, after all. We, uh, should let everyone enjoy themselves a little."

"That is... very generous of you, but... you know how it is with Miss Oxton and her overeating. Not to mention McCree and his drinking. Brigitte and–" The security officer blushed and cut herself off to instead mutter awkwardly: "Ahem... some people here are a bit undisciplined, is what I'm saying..."

Having obviously enjoyed herself quite a bit more than just "a little", Pharah's words struck a nerve with the fat angel. Suddenly very keenly aware of her current state, she huffed: "They'll just have to show some restraint for once! Now... I'm, uh, very busy so if you'd be so kind..."

Seeing Angela's impatience to get rid of her, Pharah sighed and picked up the plasboard box again. For a second it seemed like the doctor was about to ask her to leave it, but in the end common sense or embarrassment prevailed.

The security officer wanted to say something, but she was so perplexed by this whole encounter that she silently complied. With the door closing behind her she found herself standing dumbly out in the corridor.

" _Sumimasen_..." A robotic voice brought Pharah back to reality; a reality where she was blocking the way for an apologetic Genji: "I just wanted to see Angela about a, uhm, medical issue..."

The cyborg ninja quickly hid the paper cut on his unaugmented left hand behind his back.

Fareeha glanced at the door behind her. A hard look flashed over her face and she took a step aside. Then she stopped and closed her eyes with a sigh. Standing her ground, she straightened up: "She's... busy. I'm afraid the doctor won't be seeing you today."

 

The soft hiss of the workshop door instinctively prompted Brigitte to sweep empty plastic packaging off her desk. The pre-packaged pies had simply happened to arrive in a crate of engineering supplies, so it really couldn't be called smuggling to bring them into the base in contradiction of Mercy's orders. Everything was above-board: She had just decided to clean up her desk at the exact moment the door opened was all.

"Back already?" the engineer grinned innocently – while surreptitiously nudging the pile of wrappers under a nearby tool trolley with her foot.

Pharah's answer was just a drawn-out sigh. For a moment she stood in the doorway, staring dumbly into the plasboard crate she couldn't quite believe she was _still_ lugging around.

Sitting up very straight, hands folded in her lap, Brigitte peered into the box: "I thought you said you'd have Angela take care of that?"

"She, uh, rescinded the directive..." Fareeha muttered and shuffled over to the Swede. She was still in a bit of a daze after the sudden change of plans.

"You mean snacks are back on the menu?" Brigitte took advantage of Fareeha's confusion to snatch up a candy bar as the box of goodies passed by her. Idly biting into it, she smirked: "Oohoo... Lena is gonna be thrilled. Or as she'd say: 'stuffed'."

"You mean 'chuffed'," Fareeha corrected her, standing next to the desk and hesitating over what to do next.

"Y-yeah, that's the one... hehe..." the Swede said sheepishly.

"Miss Lindh– uh, Brigitte... can I tell you something?"

A hint of red touched Brigitte's cheeks. Swallowing the half-chewed chocolate in her mouth with some effort, she nodded enthusiastically.

Visibly relieved, Pharah sat down and glanced around as if to make sure they were alone. "This stays between you and me, but... I think Dr. Ziegler has been eating all the contraband."

Judging by the security officer's scandalous tone, she expected Brigitte to be outraged. Instead, once she had recovered from her initial fluster, the young woman just grinned. Scooping up a handful of sweets from the loot crate, she dug in eagerly and laughed: "Who can blame her? This stuff is delicious!"

Seeing her be so carefree about the whole thing, Fareeha felt compelled to reiterate: "Promise you won't tell anyone, okay?"

"My lips are sealed!" Brigitte assured her and promptly sealed them with toffee. "Squire's honour."

This earned her a raised eyebrow from Fareeha.

"I mean, I've promised to look after your suit and watch your back, right? And you're pretty much a modern day knight, just like Reinhardt. Sooo..." Brigitte lowered her gaze and spoke into a bear claw she was munching on: "You're obviously prettier, but don't tell him I said that..."

It was Pharah's turn to blush, but it was at this moment she realized how calm she felt all of a sudden. She smiled fondly: Even if they had only known each other for a few weeks, she could always trust Brigitte to make her feel better. "Not a word! Security chief-knight's honour."

"Thanks," Brigitte grinned back at her. "You know how he can be."

Exchanging amused chuckles, Pharah eventually ventured: "I look forward to testing the new suit outside the training area tomorrow."

"Really? I thought you wanted to do more exercise stuff instead?"

"You deserve to see your masterpiece in action, don't you think?" Fareeha gave Brigitte a confident smile.

From there, the two of them ended up chatting about the "Raptora Mark VII" and how it was working out. The conversation turned rather more casual than a proper evaluation, but Pharah didn't mind. Her earlier troubles were now banished from her thoughts and she was more than happy just to have an excuse to talk.

"We should do a more comprehensive vertical test as well," the security chief opined. "Perhaps on the south-west–"

Fareeha went silent, realizing she was gobbling down a handful of snacks. Opposite her, Brigitte pulled back abruptly, feigning ignorance about the conspicuously open bag of bacon chips she had just pushed over to her companion.

"Ouf..." Suddenly feeling very full, Pharah shifted awkwardly in her seat. She glanced warily at the box sitting between them and groaned when it dawned on her how much of its contents the two of them had eaten.

Realizing she was holding a half-eaten pastry, Pharah put it down only to look up at Brigitte's expectant smile. Reluctantly she picked it back up, much to the engineer's approval. Groaning inwardly as she chewed, she thought to herself: _Dr. Ziegler had better recover quickly!_

 


End file.
